


Binary Systems

by StBridgit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:23:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StBridgit/pseuds/StBridgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just one Christmas all together, then they’d be safely off to Asia. Hermione could do that, couldn’t she? If only Harry hadn’t insisted on going to Godric’s Hollow. If only she had dared to apparate there. If only the Dark Lord wasn’t so mesmerizing…so wicked…and too damn clever for her own good…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Binary Systems

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uchiha_s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uchiha_s/gifts), [Tomione_Forum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomione_Forum/gifts).



> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> Tags: Dubcon, Stockholm syndrome, drugs
> 
> This story was written as a part of the Tomione forum’s Secret Santa for Uchiha_s

**Binary Systems**

 

The weather was truly, truly horrible.

Hermione squinted, the windscreen wipers moving sluggishly against the wet clumps of snow trying to freeze to them. The wind had picked up, causing her aunt’s old Astra to lurch on the icy pavement. She would have to apply a weak sticking charm to the tyres if this kept up.

But worst of all was the way her heart still raced. She noticed for the first time that there was blood on her fingers—Harry’s blood. _I’ll have to Scourgify that before I leave the car…_

*-*

It hadn’t seemed like a good idea from the start. Harry had been insistent, urging Hermione to ignore her better judgment and sneak off from her family’s Christmas gathering. It wasn’t a very long journey, as Beckington was quite close to Godric’s Hollow. She had saved herself the trouble of making a torturous excuse for leaving the convivial gathering of her extended family…she had discovered that they were completely, mysteriously _out_ of all milk and butter! Her aunt had frowned ponderously, but upon examination of the fridge, had indeed concluded that someone in the family had gone on a dairy binge, as there was neither milk nor butter to be found. Hermione had graciously volunteered to run to the nearest open shop to buy more, and thus had bought herself an hour max before they would wonder where she was.

Harry had raised an eyebrow at her when she arrived in the Muggle car.

“Apparition too much for you?” he had teased in his good natured way.

Despite the stress of Horcrux hunting, he still looked attractive, in that boyish, warm way that secretly she found appealing. There was also the fact that Harry was a true _gentleman_ , in a way that Ron clearly was not. After Ron had abandoned them, the last vestiges of her crush on him had faded utterly. Instead she was trying hard not to think about how Harry was kinder—braver— _snoggable._ She cut herself off, unwilling to let herself go there. After all, Ginny was her friend, too, and Harry clearly had a thing for her. She would not interfere. If it fell apart, well, that would be a different thing.

“Listen, Harry, I’m just lucky to have gotten away from my parents,” Hermione retorted. “It’s bad enough that I couldn’t get out of this Christmas get-together. Don’t push it.”

Hermione had planned to Obliviate her parents and send them away. Surprisingly, it was Ron who persuaded her not to do that. He pointed out that a misapplied memory charm of such size would drive them insane—and even if she were confident in her ability to cast it correctly (which, he conceded, she probably was), she would not be able to reverse it. Hermione had instead negotiated with her parents. They had agreed to go abroad, to do the charitable work they had talked about with Dentists Without Borders. They had argued about her leaving the country too, but had settled for a family Christmas to ‘tide us all over’ until things calmed. They still had no idea how bad it really was in the wizarding world.

“I hope you get to have _some_ fun with your family, Hermione.” Harry’s voice was quiet but sincere.

Hermione sighed, shutting the car door with a quiet click. There were many very good reasons why Harry couldn’t join her family for the holiday, but honestly she felt like he was still too naïve, too immersed in optimism. She was always on edge, keeping watch for Death Eaters and making sure that she kept herself as out of sight as possible. If she could have gotten out of this family Christmas, she would have. She just hoped it wasn’t their last.

“Let’s go, Harry.”

*-*

Hermione’s hands were still shaking when she pulled into her aunt’s drive. She Scourgified the steering wheel, then her hands, wincing as the force of the charm abraded her skin. She couldn’t afford to have them know, but she had to make up some sort of plausible excuse and get back to Harry. It was only as she approached the door that she realized she had forgotten to get the milk and butter.

“Bloody Merlin’s beard!” she hissed quietly to herself. _Why didn’t you simply HIDE the milk and butter?_ She was so jittery, so nervous about spending just twenty-four hours with her family that she could hardly think straight.

From the raucous laughter inside, no one had realized she had returned. It was so fantastical, the fact that her parents and whole family were living their lives without any idea of the vicious war being waged all around them.

 _Thank Merlin Voldemort hadn’t arrived_.

Hermione stopped herself. Now was not the time to rehash what had happened with Nagini. They got away, Harry was healed and behind safe wards, and she would be invisible among the Muggles for one night. One problem at a time, solved neatly. On to the next.

 _I’ll just go to the SPAR in Nunney_. _Simple._

Of course, it would have been simpler if she had stopped on her way back from Godric’s Hollow, but there was no time for recriminations. She had fifteen minutes left, could blame the weather for the delay, and a poorly stocked shop. _Transfigure the bag as one from a different chain, further away, no problem._

The weather was worse when she hit the main road again. She had been forced to use the sticking charm, so it wasn’t difficult to stay on the road, but visibility was even worse. She didn’t dare to use any other spells. There were too many roving Snatchers and too many detection spells to risk all but the most innocuous of charms. Given the prevalence of magical villages in this part of England, she didn’t think she would have trouble.

There was a turn in the road ahead, a tricky black spot during good weather but positively nightmare-ish in these conditions. She wished she could cast a visibility spell, but didn’t dare. A quick glance at the clock showed she needed more time than she had. At least the cows weren’t in the pastures at this time of year, so she needn’t worry about striking one.

As soon as she thought it, the car careened wildly, going up and over a sizeable obstacle at the turn. Her sticking charm had stayed true, allowing the car to keep both its traction and forward momentum. She pressed hard on the brake, causing the car’s back end to fishtail wildly before it careened to a stop at an awkward angle, the front end perilously close to the ditch.

“Oh God.”

Her hands were shaking again.

“Shake it off, Hermione, it’s just a cow. Just a cow, not a person.”

 _Of all the unbelievably bad luck!_ After calming down a miniscule amount, she pulled on her gloves and stepped out into the snowstorm. It was still hard to see, and the feeble light given off by her aunt’s torch from the glovebox was nowhere near as good as a Lumos charm. Nonetheless, it was adequate enough for her to pick out the dark shape lying motionless in the road, not moving.

“Definitely too big to be a person.”

The wind snatched away her words, and she crept closer, her hand closing around her wand in her pocket, aware that wounded animals could be dangerous. A lack of movement didn’t necessarily mean that it had died. She peered through the swirling snowflakes, expecting the familiar black and white pattern of the Friesian cattle that dotted the fields in spring. The light began to fall on the body, glittering oddly— _perhaps the snow or ice?_ —Hermione’s analytical brain supplied, and she crept closer still, a sense of unease stealing over her. Not black, but green…in regular patterns…scales in fact…

“Nagini,” Hermione breathed.

Her mind blanked as the body twitched.

Instinct had her scrambling backward, her suddenly frozen fingers fumbling with the torch. The light moved around wildly for a second, maybe two, briefly illuminating her face before she managed to get it switched off, her fingers fumbling with the car door latch before she got inside, putting the car into reverse and pressing down on the gas. The car lurched, then gained purchase, the rear tyres bumping into the snake again. The odd angle of the car made it impossible to get straight without again hitting Nagini. Hermione remembered the way the snake had almost gotten Harry, and she pressed down hard on the gas pedal. The car lurched backward, up the lump of the snake’s body enough to allow Hermione to crank the wheel hard right, slamming her feet onto the clutch and brake. She shifted into first gear and hit the gas again now that both tyres were back on the tarmacadam, driving away as fast as she could.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Hermione said quickly, shock finally giving way to quiet as her brain processed what had just happened, her foot slowing from the accelerator pedal to enable more cautious driving so her brain could _think_.

_It was a small movement, possibly a reflexive twitch from dying muscles. It didn’t mean the snake was alive._

_We barely escaped her earlier, it was the right decision to not try to check._

_The car would have done considerable damage._

She would NOT feel guilty for partially running over the snake again to get away. Even magical creatures could be hurt and killed by Muggle cars—it was part of what Mr. Weasley had to deal with as part of his job.

But… _if the snake were not dead…and if it had seen her…_

The car shuddered violently in protest at the combination of her foot pressing down hard on the gas pedal and her hands shaking again, forcing her to put more attention on her driving, carefully navigating her way into a parking spot at the Spar in Nunney entirely on autopilot. Hermione considered her options, her breath coming out in controlled puffs as she forced herself to come up with a plan.

She had to ditch the car. She couldn’t afford to return to her aunt’s house, would have to go straight away.

And yet, if she simply disappeared, they would put up a hue and cry about her disappearance, she knew they would! _And that would simply draw Voldemort to them._

Hermione leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, tears temporarily overwhelming her determination to keep them at bay. _I never should have agreed to see them._

She had to think of some way to let them know that she was okay, that they needed to get away from her aunt’s house— _get them all away_. She fumbled at her pockets—empty save for her wand. Her bag beside her was full of all her magical accoutrements, but no mobile. She wanted no ties to her parents, not even a phone whose call log could be traced. Now, though, she desperately wished she had one.

Her eyes flicked up to the Spar. The clerk would have one. She would charm him into letting her borrow it for a local call, then be on her way.

Her left hand firmly moved the car into park, now totally absent all tremors, absolutely in control now that she had a plan. It was a curious quirk of her personality that she was rock solid under the most extreme of pressures. It was almost as though she required a crucible’s trial by fire to bring out her best.

*-*

Lord Voldemort was extremely pissed off. Not only had the Boy Wonder escaped Nagini, but his snake had managed to get herself severely injured by, of all things, a _Muggle_ car. He scanned her body with his wand, fixing the damaged bones with crunches that were audible even over the wind. Deciding that was an annoyance he could do without, he waved his hand and the snow and wind ceased in the immediate vicinity. A stream of irascible hisses fell from his lips as his wand moved. He wanted Nagini to know for certain the depths of his displeasure at this turn of events.

“ _Did you at least see the Muggle responsible?”_ he hissed in Parseltongue, aware of the pain he caused as he repaired the snake’s liver.

“ _Not a Muggle,”_ Nagini hissed in reply, and Voldemort turned his wand to her head, causing a dim picture of the perpetrator to form in his mind.

“Hermione Granger…well, well…” He pushed ruthlessly through the snake’s memories, his eyes narrowing as he watched the witch defend the stupidly predictable Harry. Finally he was done, looking briefly at the stars as he thought over what he had seen. He turned his attention again to Nagini, who was considerably relieved now that broken ribs were no longer pushing into her lung.

“This cannot go unanswered, my pet…show me what you saw of the _car_ …”

*-*

The Christmas carols playing in the Spar were the type that her dad referred to as ‘pop crap’. Hermione wandered toward the dairy case, removing a liter of milk and pretending to be confused for a few seconds before she moved toward the counter. She pasted what she hoped was a winning, if vacant, smile on her face, and asked the clerk, “Excuse me, but I seem to have left my mobile at home, and I can’t remember what else my mum wanted. Would it be possible for me to borrow yours? Local call, I promise.”

The clerk, probably a dropout from a foundation degree program, arched his shaved eyebrow as he considered it for a second, then replied, “Yeah, sure, why not? It’s Christmas, innit?” and handed over a phone that likely had been in use to view porn before her arrival.

“Thanks ever so.” Turning away from the counter, Hermione dialed her aunt’s number, saying loudly, “Hi, Aunt Rose! I was wondering if I could speak to Mum…yeah, that’s right, I just want to check…”

The clerk disinterestedly turned his attention away from her and back to the telly playing a panto on ITV. Hermione cut her voice down, thankful as she heard her mother’s voice come on the line.

“Hermione?”

*-*

Lord Voldemort was, contrary to some opinions, no one’s fool. After summoning Peter to take care of Nagini’s transportation and care, he turned his attention immediately to finding the errant Miss Granger. While some amount of time had passed since she had run over Nagini, he was quite certain that she was relatively close…and furthermore, that she was in the company of her _Muggle_ family. There was no other reasonable explanation for her presence at the wheel of a Muggle car.

He turned slowly, analyzing what had happened from what he saw in Nagini’s memories, wand at the ready. The blur of light, then darkness, gave him exactly what he needed.

*-*

“Mum! Listen, I can’t come back there, and it’s very important that you get everyone out of there, now.” Her voice was low and fervent, and Hermione hoped her mother had the good sense to take her at her word the first time and not try to argue about it.

“What on earth are you talking about, Hermione?”

The doorbell jingled, and Hermione glanced over quickly to see a slouchy young man with dark hair and a scowl on his face make his way into the shop. He was making straight for the dairy case, and Hermione moved to the side, partially hidden behind a revolving display of holiday cards. Another pair of headlights pulled up outside, and Hermione moved further down the aisle, nervously fingering her wand as she spoke, barely keeping in eyesight of the clerk, whose forehead furrowed as he looked over at her furtive behavior with his phone. She fingered a bag of crisps as if contemplating their purchase, desperation bleeding into her voice.

“It’s the _war_ in the wizarding world, Mum. Get everyone out of there now—I don’t know, tell them I’m in hospital and you all have to go—just get out of there—”

The sudden flash of green at the corner of her peripheral vision had Hermione hitting the floor instinctively, the mobile clattering away uselessly as she watched a heavyset man’s body slump down against the glass door.

“What are you doing?” shouted the clerk as a bare pair of feet, cloaked by a black silk robe, came into view.

 _Get out the back, get out the back,_ Hermione’s brain screamed at her, and she got up into a crouch and ran quickly toward the back of the store, her head down and wand in hand. There was another flash of green as she passed the lanky teenager by the milk, her eye fixed on the door to the loo and back alley.

“I’ve put up anti-apparition wards, Miss Granger. You’d be ill served to avoid the punishment you so richly deserve for injuring my _pet_.”

The voice seemed to come from all around, even though she knew he was by the front of the store.

 _He knows who I am_. The thought tumbled madly through her synapses as she continued toward the exit, a silent _Alohomora_ causing the door to swing inward, the snowy alley behind.

“Two dead Muggles already, Miss Granger—will there be a third on your conscience?”

She heard the scream of the boy, steeled herself. _He was dead the second he came in—and so will you be if Lord Voldemort gets ahold of you._

Anti-apparition wards only held humans. She hadn’t ever managed a full transformation, the push and pull of her body too painful to complete the work required to become an Animagus. Now, there was no other choice. Her focus was laser-like, her form shrinking into a small puff of grey fur. She ran as fast her tiny legs could carry her, a mouse shuffling on the gossamer thin top layer of snow. She felt the electric pulse of powerful wards, the added zap an additional incentive to get the hell out of there. She transformed back mid-run, disapparating just as she felt a pulse of magic behind her.

*-*

It was colder and windier in Wales, the stars blotted out by thick cloud cover with the moon only intermittently breaking through where she landed, in the shadows of the decrepit castle wall. She couldn’t stay here long, just long enough to catch her breath and make sure she wasn’t followed. She cast a _Hominem revelio_ charm, verifying that she was alone in the ruins, then cast a small _Lumos,_ beginning to pick her way along the edge of the wall. She could wait out of the wind.

“That was very clever, Miss Granger.”

The voice was no longer diffuse, and it was close—too close. Hermione whirled and cast in rapid succession. Voldemort batted away her hexes easily, walking toward her all the while, casually remarking, “Carreg Cennen, a good choice for its isolation. It would be a pity if more Muggles suffered this evening on your account.”

Hermione was trying desperately to remember where the doorway was. It had been years since she’d been here with her family…

He must have known what she was thinking, because he cast with unerring accuracy, the spell exploding a piece of the stone wall, the shards of rock abrading her cheek as she turned her head away and moved in the opposite direction—toward the cliff.

“I’m surprised at you, Miss Granger. You abandoned that Muggle to his death, which suggests a level of ruthlessness that belies your Gryffindor sorting. It did buy you a few more minutes—wise of you, as he was dead anyway…which you had already deduced.”

He was casting now, slowly stepping up the frequency of his spells so she had to work harder to shield herself. He was toying with her, and that made her fiercely angry. She stumbled slightly on the rubble underfoot, but took advantage of his expectation that she would not be able to shield herself as well. She was ready for the spell, blocking it with a swiftness she hadn’t displayed yet and casting her own curse with a strong pulse of magic. Her _Expulso_ was strong enough to cause a large section of wall next to Voldemort to explode in a shattering arc of blue as he quickly deflected it.

“The kitten has claws!” he cried, although his eyes narrowed. He hadn’t liked that little burst of defiance, and Hermione swallowed hard. He began to cast more fluidly now, conscribing her spellcasting to defensive moves only.

Hermione knew that she was close to the cliff edge now, the broken wall even more dilapidated than it had been when she had visited. She began to climb up backward, hoping to make the stairs on the other side. If she timed it right, it would look like she had fallen over the edge—but she would be on the stairs, with a precious second of opportunity to get away. She had to hope he hadn’t erected disapparition wards again in his arrogant certainty that he had her.

“Play time draws to a close, Miss Granger. I grow bored with your obstinate _defiance_.”

The slicing hex hurt, her side slick with freely flowing blood. She had scrambled to the top of the tumbled down wall—it was time to make her move. She planted her right foot and twisted, throwing herself toward the stairs—but as she twisted, the rubble underfoot shifted, and she pitched diagonally, her descent out of control. She slipped over the cliff edge, her hand clasping her wand as her mind rigidly overrode the impulse to scream, hoping she would be able to cast an _Ascencio_ at just the right moment before she was too close to the bottom. The word began to form in her throat as she was enveloped by a rush of oddly warm darkness.

*-*

“I’ve never seen anything like it, my lord.”

Severus Snape drew down his wand. It had been a shock to be summoned and find that the Dark Lord had Hermione Granger in his possession, let alone be commanded to try to penetrate her mind. Worse still, it was obvious that the girl had suffered already under the Dark Lord’s hand. Her side was shredded, and little care had been given to properly healing it. In addition, she had a malingering fever that was possibly the result of a curse, and probably had a massive headache from numerous attempts to enter her mind.

“I have read about such cases,” Voldemort replied, his head tilted slightly as he studied the again unconscious witch. “A native Occlumens…exceedingly rare.”

“It is possible that the difficulty lies in the fever which is now gripping her body,” Severus said honestly, even though he knew it meant that Miss Granger would be subjected to at least a few more attempts at Legilimency when her fever had passed. There was little point in obfuscation—he could pretend to be ignorant of native Occlumens, but any wizard who was well educated in the Dark Arts would know the side effects of the malingering curse.

“Indeed.”

Voldemort seemed preoccupied, and Severus decided to test his chances and see if he could buy a reprieve for the girl, at least some time for the Order to plot a rescue of some kind.

“I could brew a potion, my lord, to rid her of the effects of the fever, then test her again to see if her mind may be penetrated. You need not be bothered again until the results are known.”

A corner of the Dark Lord’s mouth twitched slightly. “I think not.” He turned from the girl, a hard gleam in his eye. “Miss Granger _deserves_ the entirety of my attention. Brew the potion.”

*-*

Her mind was a jumble of pain. At times she felt like she was falling, then the sensation would morph into the conviction that someone was trying to violently jackhammer into her skull. Then a roaring hot wind would sweep all of that away, making her feel as if she were so parched her skin was dessicated, her lips flaking off as the wind swirled her ashes away.

She had no idea how much time had passed when her eyelids finally lifted, the light filtering in as gravelly patches, blurred at the edges. She thought she heard voices, fading away. She had vague flashes of fear, of running away from Lord Voldemort—but she couldn’t remember what had happened after she fell at Carreg Cennen.

She sat up slowly, recognizing that she was in a bed. She looked around cautiously, noting the steaming tray of food on the bureau. The voices came back in range, and one of them was female. She looked harder at the periphery of the room, but there were a scant few candles lit, and she couldn’t tell where she was. The voices were closer, possibly outside an unseen door, but she still couldn’t make out what they were saying.

 _A Muffliato_ , her mind supplied, and she closed her eyes again briefly. She wasn’t in a cell—she must have managed to apparate to safety, and the Order was caring for her. The murmured voices abruptly ceased, and she heard the click of a door knob.

“Awake at last, Miss Granger.”

Her heart froze for a second, then sputtered back to frantic life as Lord Voldemort became visible at the periphery of the light thrown from the candle on the bedside table. She overrode the instinct to scrabble away. Logically she could do nothing—she had no wand and no chance of getting away from him, yet she was in a bed and not a dungeon cell. Something was not right.

He was studying her reactions, prowling slowly toward the tray.

“What do you want from me?” she asked cautiously, her body bracing for the impact of a curse or hex.

“Clever of you…” he began, slowly drawing his wand from his sleeve. Hermione’s eyes followed it warily, and the edge of his mouth lifted up just slightly. “You must be hungry. After all, it has been… _a while_ since you were cognizant enough to nourish yourself, and you have proven to be… _interesting_ in a decidedly marginal manner.”

“No thank you.” Her voice was firm, but her mind was divided on whether it was wise to provoke him at all. His eyes tightened in displeasure. She was glad she had not offered her reasons for declining, not least of which was the potential for any number of potions being added.

“I had hoped that your renowned logic would prevail, but I see I will have to be more direct.” He pointed his wand at the bowl of soup, and Hermione suddenly felt a hot influx directly in her stomach. Her mouth opened involuntarily as the displaced air from her stomach was violently expelled, the acidic wash of stomach acid burning up from her esophagus. She sputtered as he waited, blinking violently several times to clear the tears that had pooled rapidly. “Shall I continue with the bread? Of course, I’m sure that would be more difficult, given that it would lack the pre-digestion provided by your salivary amylase.”

“I’ll eat,” Hermione managed, still coughing slightly. “I’ll eat.”

The tray situated itself on her lap, and Hermione picked up the bread and began to eat it, a small bite she could chew easily. Satisfied for now, he turned to prowl again to the other side of the bed, his gaze flicking repeatedly in her direction as she ate the roll, taking small sips of water between bites. Finally he asked, “What do you remember?”

Hermione finished the sip of water she was in the middle of and put the glass down shakily. “I remember falling from Carreg Cennen. Everything after is…rather blurry. I thought I was going to die.”

He cocked his head at her. “You didn’t die, because I saved you. I’ll let you ponder that little twist, Miss Granger, while I enlighten you as to how my past week has been spent. In addition to nursing my injured snake, Miss Granger, I have also had to deal with a prisoner who has proved exceptionally recalcitrant to questioning. In fact, this prisoner was treated in a very similar fashion to all of my prisoners, until it was discovered that this _individual_ possesses a rare trait which renders the conventional treatment given those in her position useless. Can you imagine who I might mean, Miss Granger? Or do I need to spell it out for you?”

Hermione paled with his words, and she struggled to make sense of what he was obliquely telling her. Her tongue felt woolly, and she thought about the flashes of pain, the light of spells, the echo of blistering heat and headaches.

“I’m an Occlumens? Then why don’t I remember what…” she didn’t want to speculate as to what they may have done to her, fumbled for the right description—“…what _happened_ to me?”

He was studying her like an insect under a magnifying glass. “The mind is a curious thing, Miss Granger. I can only speculate that yours is protecting itself from the decidedly unpleasant nature of how I treat those who oppose me.”

There was a decided threat in that, but Hermione had already leapt to the next pressure point that would induce cooperation. More words tumbled out before she could think the better of them.

“My parents got away.”

“I wonder what you will do when A plus B no longer equals C,” he mused coolly, seemingly indifferent to her conclusion, and certainly giving away nothing to confirm or deny her supposition. He sat down on the bed, quite close to her, his eye clinical as he looked at her pupils, his fingers cool on her eyelid and cheek.

“What did you give me?” she asked, aware that things seemed not quite right. For a start, she was no longer so disturbed by his presence, almost becoming numb to all the horror that he represented.

“My own particular blend of Veritaserum,” he replied, his fingers trailing lightly down her cheek, then lifting her chin so she had to look at him, his thumb passing over her lower lip almost as an afterthought. “You, Hermione Jean Granger, are an anomaly…and as a result, we are going to get to know each other much better, my pet.”

“I can’t tell you where Harry is,” Hermione said, aware that her heart was again speeding up due to his proximity. “He will have moved by now.”

He laughed darkly, swiping his thumb again over her lips, a contemplative expression on his face. “Oh, I know that, Miss Granger. However, I am quite sure that you can tell me what he is _doing_ —and that is of great interest to me.”

“I will not help you, no matter what you do to me. I have never had any training in Occlumency, so I couldn’t stop doing whatever it is my mind is doing to keep you out even if I wished to do so.” Her eyes were hot, and it amused him.

“Tell me, Hermione, are you as much of a bookworm as they say? Aren’t you the least bit curious as to how I do so many of the things I do?” His voice had softened, taken on a coaxing note that was insidiously charming, his hand soft against her cheek as his thumb again pressed lightly on her bottom lip.

She wanted to remain silent, but she could not, her brain urging her to speak the truth regardless of her desire to deny him the pleasure of a reply. “I think you are extremely intelligent and talented, but I despise what you do with your talent. _I despise what you do to people_.”

His expression twisted, his eyes taking on a sardonic gleam. “Be careful, little Gryffindor, with that tongue of yours. I may want the truth, but you’d best make it palatable before giving it to me.”

She felt bold, wanted to provoke him, to prove that he was the monster she knew him to be. She wanted the panto villain instead of this puzzling treatment. “Aren’t you going to ask me, then, what you want to know? Isn’t that why you gave me Veritaserum? Ask me what Harry is doing! See what I have to say.”

His wand flashed and her arms were stretched above her head, her hands clasped together by slithering, silken bonds as the bed dropped away precipitously, making her stomach lurch and causing a flash of memory, of falling in darkness, to cloak her mind. The candles had gutted out, and again she felt that encompassing warmth. This time, however, she was able to attribute it to its natural cause. Voldemort was pressed entirely against her, his left hand buried in the hair at the back of her head so he could control her gaze, his wand lazily held at her neck as he spoke into her ear, his warm breath causing skitters to course down her spine.

“Now, pet, I’ve had enough of your brash taunting. You will not provoke me down the same path I have already trod with you. All you will do is provoke my wrath toward others. Let me be rightly understood: you are going nowhere, Miss Granger. I’ve decided to make you my personal project. When I’m done with you, if you’re very _fortunate_ , you’ll have a much better understanding of the true nature of magic…and you’ll be _mine._ ”

 _Never_ , she vowed in her mind, the only sanctuary she was allowed. The smile on his lips as he drew back suggested he knew what she had thought regardless of her Occlumency.

*-*

“ _Nagini, I want you to test my new pet for me.”_

Nagini still moved slowly, not back to herself yet after the unfortunate encounter with Granger’s Muggle car.

“ _Biiite?”_ she hissed, and Voldemort shook his head.

“ _Test, not taste—Miss Granger is off your menu._ ”

The snake’s tail swished angrily, but he ignored her pique. If she had stayed where she belonged that evening, she would not have been hit by the car at all—so he wasn’t inclined to coddle her offended sensibilities. His thoughts turned to the mudblood, who was proving resilient in solitary confinement. It made it all the more chafing that he couldn’t see exactly how her mind was laid out, discern what game she was playing with herself to keep her spirits up. He wondered exactly how she would choose to struggle, and realized he was entertained by the game of conquering Hermione Jean Granger, the mudblood member of the golden trio. He wondered what Harry would do when he eventually let the boy know exactly what Miss Granger had gotten herself into.

*-*

Hermione woke suddenly to the crush of a large body passing over her. She sat up quickly, and found Voldemort watching her by the light of a single candle. She knew somehow that it wasn’t him who had woken her, and she warily scanned the shadows as discreetly as she could while he spoke. It happened quickly, the flash of green snakeskin at the edge of the flame, a rustle of something as the large snake moved in the shadows.

“I have a problem, Miss Granger. You see, the fact is that you did damage Nagini, and she is…” he paused and looked to his left, then finished in a hiss of Parseltongue, “… _a vindictive creature_.”

Nagini struck before Hermione could finish divesting herself of the bedclothes, their comfort replaced by itchy scales as she was rapidly entwined by large, serpentine coils. She began to struggle, then stopped quickly as she felt the snake tighten around her even more in response. _It’s like Devil’s Snare, don’t struggle, stay calm and in control._

“Wise of you, Miss Granger. Needless to say, you are hardly Nagini’s favorite witch.”

Hermione did not flinch as the snake’s large golden eyes came into view, her tongue flicking out to taste her cheek. There was a clear drop of venom hanging from one of her fangs. _I will not shiver, I will not shiver…_ Clearly Nagini was displeased with her lack of reaction, because she tightened even further, drawing a small hiss of pain as the muscles of her arms slid painfully over bone and her lungs forced out yet more air.

“So this is her _quid pro quo_?” Hermione gasped out, aware that if the snake squeezed just a bit more, her ribs would start to crack.

The snake hissed something in Parseltongue, and Voldemort lifted his chin as if considering the snake’s request. “She wants to bite you. I have the antivenin, of course, but it’s possible it will scar you—and of course it will be unbearably painful. Nonetheless, you willfully ran over her with that Muggle contraption. She does deserve something for her pain, doesn’t she, Miss Granger? And you are terribly, perhaps overzealously, interested in being ‘fair’.”

Hermione felt a small crack as one or more of her ribs gave way, black spots swimming in her vision from the lack of oxygen. “What was she doing on a Muggle road in the first place? Surely you don’t allow your prized pet to wander? I did not injure her on purpose. All I have ever done is seek to get away safely.”

The blackness was overtaking her vision now, so the angry hiss and sudden release of the tension was overwhelming. Her knees crumpled and she nearly hit the floor, letting out a small cry of pain from the jarring of her broken ribs and the rasping pain of a full breath. Her vision swam and it took a second to realize she hadn’t hit the floor.

“ _Leave us_.”

The hiss of Parseltongue was close again, the familiar warmth of his breath near her face. She couldn’t help it, pushing her face into the warmth of his robes to avoid crying out again as he healed her ribs. He lifted her chin up with his hand when he was done, releasing her lower lip from her teeth. His eyes dropped to watch his finger pry her lip loose before he suddenly said, “Well done, pet. I’m afraid I would have had to let her…have _her way_ with you if you hadn’t reminded her of the price of her own folly.”

His eyes had dropped to her mouth again, leaving Hermione feeling fuzzy in her gut. He left then abruptly, leaving Hermione to massage her aching side. She wondered why he had looked at her that way and said that. He was almost… _pleased_ with her reaction.

She could not reconcile that notion with what he had stated as his aim. If he would try Legilimency on her again while she was fully _compus mentus_ , then she could perhaps figure out what she was doing to block him, and attempt to consciously control it. Instead she was subject to his whims, with no idea as to how to escape or even figure out what he was doing. She felt like he viewed her as a puzzle, waiting for him to discover at his leisure the right method to solve her. She couldn’t sleep well after that, tossing and turning before finally deciding it was just another mental game he was playing with her. Her dreams were full of suffocating snakes.

*-*

Time passed slowly with only Lord Voldemort for occasional company—thankfully without Nagini accompanying him again. He didn’t drug her again with Veritaserum either, at least not in a way that she could detect. However, the mere fact that she grew used to his presence would suggest otherwise. He began making her do busy work, setting difficult academic exercises that she quickly learned to complete, otherwise he would drag a helpless Muggle or witch or wizard in before her to _demonstrate_ an issue with his wand. He was smart enough not to kill them—after all, she had already demonstrated that she would resist such pressures after the incident at the Muggle convenience store.

She caught him watching her several times with a more than casual interest, and she could not fail to notice that he hadn’t tried Legilimency once. Her memories between Carreg Cennen and waking up remained amorphous, with vague echoes of pain both physical and mental. Whatever he had done to her, clearly he hadn’t gotten any information from her at all. It was simultaneously reassuring to think that Harry was still safe for now, and worrisome that he had obviously found a different path that he believed would lead to success. The fact that he was showing her exactly how brilliant he was with his assignments was even more worrying. She was beginning to respect his teaching ability if nothing else about him.

“This theory is asinine,” Hermione unwisely argued once, which caused him to mock her intelligence.

“You are supposedly the brightest witch of your age, and yet how little imagination you show.”

She had refused to work further on the problem after that jibe. It took one Crucio of a bystander for Hermione to decide that meaningless busywork was preferable, and since then she had bitten her tongue instead of argue about whatever obscure treatise he put before her.

Of increasingly grating annoyance was the fact that she could not tell how much time had passed. She was not allowed to leave the room, and without windows or a clock she had no way of knowing how many days passed in this meaningless manner. One particular Arithmancy task, however, became her personal Waterloo.

“This is ridiculous!” Hermione said, throwing her quill down. “There is no point to solving this matrix for changing the weather, because weather is the fifth exemption to Gamp’s Law.”

This is what Voldemort had been waiting for. He uncoiled his frame from the chair he habitually lounged in while she did her work, keeping a keen eye and lazy wand on her. “Do you think you know better than me how this applies to Arithmancy?”

He was leaning over her work, and she was suddenly aware again of the oddness of her position. Her breathing sped up as he leaned over her, grabbing the quill and brushing her hand with his own as he did so. She worked to calm down as he scribbled his own annotation on the parchment, tossing it down with the same shameless disregard she had shown the writing instrument. “Tell me, how does _that_ alter your conclusions?”

“This is a—” she mentally inserted, _ridiculous_ , “—problem, that, if I continue, will merely loop back into itself.”

He seated himself behind her on the padded bench, impatient to watch her work through it. “Try it anyway.”

Hermione took a deep breath and picked up the quill, scratching impatiently at the parchment as she began working through the equations again. She registered his hand moving her hair to the side, ostensibly so he could easily see what she was doing—but when she realized that his notation had, in fact, caused the equation to take a different direction, his quiet chuckle at her epiphany was right by her ear. She noticed because it was followed in short order by a kiss on her neck, just below her ear. Her breath caught, the tip of the quill digging into the parchment. He didn’t seem to care, his hand firm at her waist as he pressed two more kisses on her neck, then lifted his head when she turned to look back at him.

“Continue.”

His gaze was half mocking, half daring her to argue with him—and Hermione was torn between three conflicting and simultaneous thoughts: the certain knowledge that she was on the cusp of a very real and very interesting new application of Gamp’s Law, the fact that Lord Voldemort was feeling her up, and the horrifying realization that her brain was saying it was actually kind of pleasant. Her breath puffed out once, twice, three times in succession as she thought about all of it, a clear decision of some kind being required. She decided to punt.

“Why are you doing this?”

He raised a brow. “I thought we were beyond your childish demands for a reason for everything.”

“You’re no altruist,” Hermione retorted. “You weren’t able to break into my mind, for reasons that I don’t understand—but it doesn’t explain… _this_.” Her brain stuttered, preventing her from directly referencing the way he was all over her.

His arm snaked suddenly around her waist, pulling her back firmly against him. “Are you entitled to an explanation of my behavior? Now continue, or I will be forced to tediously remind you of the price for your lack of cooperation.”

She tensed in anger, and somehow she knew that amused him, too. She couldn’t bear the thought of someone else being tortured in front of her, however, so she gritted her teeth and said, “Right.”

She turned back to the equations, determined to ignore him and not give him the satisfaction of disrupting her equilibrium with his game. She ignored how close he still was, forcing her mind to focus on the systemic progression of the numbers as they began assembling into a spiral that built on itself, laying a theoretical foundation for weather transfiguration. At the same time, Voldemort reapplied his lips to her neck, his tongue tasting her skin while he moved the arm he had left clasped around her waist. His hand moved surely up, upward, until his fingers were cupping her breast and his thumb was teasing her nipple, back and forth, back and forth, in a tantalizing pattern that was made worse by the sucks of his mouth at the tender flesh of her neck. She suddenly wanted more, wanted to lean back into him and twine her arms about his head, raising both breasts for his hands and opening her mouth to beg for equal attention from his wicked mouth.

“You’re…you’re distracting me,” she forced out, setting the quill down again. “I won’t be seduced into telling you what Harry is doing.”

“So blunt, Miss Granger…but hardly prudish,” he observed in her ear as his thumb swept again over her nipple. “How wet are you for me? Shall I find out?”

“You may provoke a response from my body, but you it won’t gain you access to my mind. For all I know you have been feeding me all sorts of potions!” She tried to keep her voice from rising at the end, tried to give the appearance of calm, but the fact was that he _was_ provoking a response from her body, and she felt more than a bit betrayed by her flesh for its cravenness.

He chuckled again, and she felt a sudden coolness as her robes split, followed almost immediately by the warm flow of a warming charm as he parted her legs, his fingers delving between them with unerring accuracy. She would _not_ acknowledge how good it felt to be pressed against him, to have an admittedly brilliant wizard applying his intellect to pleasuring her body.

“How steadily you cling to your binary view of the world Miss Granger. Not everything is as evenly divided as you would paint it…as evidenced by your desire for me.”

His fingers were moving in delicious strokes, and of its own volition Hermione’s head fell back against his shoulder, a moan falling from her lips as he bit lightly on her ear lobe. There was a sudden, overall flush of warmth throughout his body that she felt, pressed as she was against his chest, and he disengaged his fingers, saying as he did so, “You are delightfully sapiosexual, Miss Granger. Until next time.”

She almost fell backward, but caught herself with one hand, suddenly aware of how her robes gaped as she watched him suck his fingers…the fingers he had had in her. His eyes were fixed on her as he vanished, and she wondered if the flush was how he knew he was being summoned. She felt dirty as her fingers scrabbled to close her robes.

*-*

“What potions are you giving me?”

He tilted his head, studying the way her hair spilled, curl by curl, over her shoulder as she mirrored his movement with her head. More than the alcohol was loosening her reserve, her attempt to cling to her dignity and some shred of her understanding of herself, how she _should_ be as opposed to how she _was_ , stuck in this twilight, tiny world with him.

He ignored her question, knowing it would vex her, and poked her further. “Does it distress you, my pet, to think about what is going on beyond these doors?”

Her fingers tightened on the goblet of wine, and again that spitfire of anger rose briefly from beneath the lassitude induced by Severus’ clever anti-inhibition potion. She refused to be drawn by his question.

“I am not your _pet_.”

He laughed, a low, rich sound so at odds with what most people heard when he spoke. She continued doggedly, “Why do you present yourself as something other than you are?”

His fingers were firm as he gripped her chin and turned her face upward, her lips slightly parted. “I might ask you the same question, little witch. You soak up knowledge from me, and respond freely with your body to my demands. Why do you deny that you find me… _compelling_? What harm in admitting what is so blatant?”

“Because it’s just… _perverse_. You’re…” _the Dark Lord_ , her mind supplied, but she refused to use that term, was too afraid to use his real name, “…Lord Voldemort. Whatever game you play, it will certainly not end well for me. I’m not a fool.”

“Again you limit yourself to binary reasoning. When will you allow yourself the freedom to escape it? Is it not worthwhile to learn for the sake of learning? To question boundaries imposed on you, to find out if they are real or artificial?”

“You are everything I hate—domineering—”

“A leader, and you like it.” He bit her earlobe, his body suddenly much closer, much warmer.

“Arrogant—”

“Is it not deserved?” His tongue was working there now, her heart rate catching in response.

“Cruel…”

“Mercy can be confused for cruelty. So much rides on perspective, does it not?”

She couldn’t answer. His lips were on hers, the taste of the wine on his tongue soon eclipsed by just the taste of him. Rational thought fled until she found herself flat on her back, her robes completely open to the Dark Lord.

“I. Hate. You,” she panted out as the devastating _push-pull_ of his mouth on her breast spun her up like a top. It wasn’t _right_ , the way he read her with such accuracy, the way he was even doing this. She thought she was everything _he_ hated—a mudblood, one of Harry Potter’s best friends—perhaps it was the perverseness of the arrangement that appealed to him. And she wished fervently that she knew how to _control_ the unconscious manner in which she blocked him from her mind.

“You hate the caricature of me.”

The still functioning rational part of her brain traitorously whispered, _he’s right_ — _THIS wizard you find very appealing_. He lowered his head further still, and Hermione shrieked, her back arching, as he tasted her directly. She learned that his tongue was clever with more than words, her brain again shutting down as pleasure blossomed throughout her nervous system. _If this is Dark magic, I don’t care…_

That night was the first time he successfully penetrated her mind, in the fog of her post-orgasmic haze. Her mind was quite organized, but he hadn’t time to plumb its depths. He so appreciated a tidy mind. He found a memory of Harry in a tent as Hermione produced supplies from her clever, enchanted beaded bag. The flavor of the little mudblood still bloomed on his tongue as he withdrew from her mind, eliciting a surprising response from his flesh. She had fallen asleep with a small smile on her face. All in all the evening was a delicious success, in all respects.

*-*

“My lord, you called?”

Severus Snape was wary. The Dark Lord had had Miss Granger under his personal _care_ for three months, and had been scant with the details of how the young woman was responding to the potion he had requested. The fact that he still required the potion seemed to indicate that Miss Granger was holding firm against whatever the Dark Lord had determined would enable him to break into her mind.

“Severus. I require an amendment to the potion you have been brewing for me for Miss Granger.”

“My lord?” He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the expression on the Dark Lord’s face was not one he had often seen.

Voldemort twirled his wand in his hand, his expression contemplative. Making his way into her mind had been almost as satisfying as a confrontation with Harry, and he found the manner in which she thought about things quite provocative.

“I need you to add a contraceptive to it.”

A chill swept down Snape’s spine. “As you wish.”

Voldemort waved off the potions master, ignoring his bow as he left the room. He had not planned to fuck her at all, those sorts of desires long dead. It had therefore come as a surprise to find himself getting aroused by her—both her fire and, thus far, plumbless capacity for adaptation. They were traits he prized…how curious to find them in a mudblood. _An attractive anomaly_.

It was no longer good enough to bring her to orgasm—he wanted to see if she would do the same for him. An interesting challenge she wouldn’t realize had been set until long after it was over.

*-*

“Why now?”

His hands, his thrice-damned, clever hands, were stroking over her skin again, leisure and smooth in the aftermath of her orgasm. He lifted his head from her peachy skin, smoothly setting aside the wand she hadn’t noticed and moving over her in the dominating manner he employed in all things. She noticed the warm flush of his skin—the fact that his robes had vanished—the hardness of his body as he pressed against her.

“ _Hermione_.” Voldemort certainly wasn’t going to pander to her, the continuing provocations of her mind arousing him each time he was able to probe its depths. He wasn’t certain he would be able to completely map her mind, the way her neural pathways organized themselves, but he was certain now that he would get what he wanted from her tidy mind. It was a pity to only be able to enjoy it for such a brief period of time when he coaxed her body to blossom for him.

His use of her first name caught her attention. “Stop doing that,” she whispered, her hand ghosting in a caress on the back of his neck.

“What?” He did so enjoy the little shivers of her skin when he stroked across her collarbone, then purposefully down.

“Please don’t humiliate me further by making me so…so keen.” Her words failed her, a reflection of her youth and inexperience, and the reality that Voldemort was _aroused_ , and _naked_ , and…and... Her mind wouldn’t let her complete that thought, but her dirty id raced in to supply images and equally dirty words. _He’s going to put that magnificent cock in you and fuck you senseless, raw, make you scream as you come for him, around him…_

She pushed against his shoulders, trying to sit up, to get away from her thoughts, from the pleasant sensations of their bodies close, but not close enough. Her push drifted into a caress of his shoulders as he stroked her nipple to a hard peak again with his tongue.

“Believe me, little one, you would know if this was a lust potion. It would be easier for you to accept, perhaps…regardless, I am going to enjoy every part of your delicious body.” He kissed her, ruthlessly driving every conflicting thought from her mind. He appreciated the fact that she wasn’t hung up on appearances. She was aroused by his mind, which made the whole affair all the more ironic.

Fragmented thoughts drifted in and out of Hermione’s mind as he expertly tortured her with want. _His skin is so smooth…oh yes, more please…what lovely muscles, they feel like ripples of water beneath my fingers…oh, oh, OH GOD that is what this feels like—_

He had forgotten how it felt, the wet slide of heated flesh around his cock and eager hands pulling him closer. She had completely discarded her objections, demanding more of his mouth against her own, creating a pleasurable friction with the way she moved against him, knees tight against his sides as her hands stroked and clenched his back as he methodically conquered her again, stroke after luxurious stroke. It was a symphony for the senses, something that was rare indeed in this resurrected flesh. He was careful to keep his own Occlumency up even at the point of orgasm, regardless of the pleasure of it. Mental bleedthrough could happen both ways, and while she was too inexperienced to do much with such a gift, he was always cautious about his mind. Her own was again open and vulnerable after her tight cunt stroked his climax from him with the roll of her own. He clinically strolled through her mind as she lay gasping with pleasure, looking for more clues of Harry.

That he would be able to share the delicious memory of fucking her as a means of tormenting Harry was just an added bonus to the—he had to admit—divine pleasure of indulging in sexual fulfillment himself.

*-*

“Severus. I am here to fetch something that belongs to me. See to it that no student wanders in the seventh floor until I return.”

The Dark Lord was curt, impatient. A feeling of dread crawled through Severus’ stomach—somehow, he knew this had something to do with Miss Granger.

“Of course, my lord. I shall see to it personally.”

“See that you do.”

There could only be one place on the seventh floor that the Dark Lord was interested in: the Room of Requirement.

*-*

“I can’t do this,” Hermione sobbed. Voldemort stopped his hand mid-trace down her spine, pulling her upright, flush against his naked flesh.

“Calm yourself.”

Hermione took several deep breaths, hating how being held tightly against him calmed her. He waited for her breathing to even out, then continued, “What prompted this?”

Twin tears fell as she closed her eyes, her voice quivering as she acknowledged what had again disrupted the odd equilibrium of their physical relations. “I felt you in my mind the last time you came to me. That is why you seduced me—to gain access to my mind. I’m such a fool.”

 _Ah._ It was something of a relief to have everything out in the open. He might be able to persuade her to let him into her mind without the haze of sex, although he had no intention of giving that up again after rediscovering its many and varied pleasures. And he knew the value of truth, carefully applied.

“You are ignorant, Hermione, but not a fool—merely a native Occlumens, and a curiously compelling bedmate.”

Being called ignorant was like a physical slap. She couldn’t help the mass of recriminations that piled up in her head. _Stockholm syndrome…you KNEW better…you KNEW he had an ulterior motive—it’s all your fault if he succeeds—_

He pulled away from her and got off the bed, walking around to sip from his wineglass before he returned to her side of the bed, unselfconscious about his nudity.

“Move.”

She was too busy crying to comply, so with a flick of his hand and wandless magic he arranged her as he wished, her legs around his waist and her bum on his lap as he leaned against the headboard. This provided a welcome distraction from her feelings of guilt and shame.

“Don’t you dare!” she began angrily, her fist raised to hit his chest. He caught it easily with a deflection charm, not even needing to touch her. “You bastard, what have you done?”

“Don’t be crude,” he corrected coldly, then his expression changed minisculely. “I did what I had to do to ensure my continued success, which is exactly what you have done. I have moved my Horcruxes to a safer location, and no matter what Harry does he will not be able to touch all of them.”

Hermione was livid now, her magic funneling with unerring precision into a wandless charm that allowed her to strike him; or at least, to strike at his magic. His response was swift and equally precise: Hermione found herself flat on her back with Voldemort looming over her.

“Take care, kitten, how you use your claws. I’ve given you considerable leeway, but if you do that again I will reach for my wand, and I guarantee that this time, you will not enjoy what I do with it.”

Her chest was heaving with indignation, and he could feel the way her magic battled against the effects of the potion. He had been decreasing the dose, the sparks of her personality a delightful seasoning to the pleasure of fucking her.

“Why bother continuing, then, if you have what you wanted?”

He smiled, settling himself fully on top of her. “I had originally intended to kill you…torture you slowly for damaging Nagini, of course, but also for having the unspeakable ill sense to befriend Potter. But then you were so surprisingly ruthless about those Muggles that night, and so determined and clever at Carreg Cennen. To then discover that you are a native Occlumens…and to personally investigate your reputed intellect and find it as profligate as has been claimed…and your _mind_ …” he paused, and Hermione felt the effect that thought had on his body as he shifted against her core. “You intrigue me. And, well, my dear—” he licked up the side of her neck, feeling the way her heartbeat accelerated in response, “—you taste absolutely divine.”

Hermione turned her head to the side, unprepared to deal with the feeling of having lost, of letting down everyone who was counting on her to stay strong.

“You revel in having me as your pet—” _whore_ , her mind supplied, even though the other part of her mind acknowledged that he had actually complimented her with his praise.

He pressed her close, his thumbs moving lazily over her nipples as he breathed the question into her ear, “How many witches, do you suppose, have aroused me in this manner in the past fifty years?”

The question itself gave her the truth.

“None.”

He thrust against her, his mouth seeking hers for confirmation that she understood. She couldn’t deny that he knew exactly what to do to her, with her, to make the time spent together very pleasurable for them both. “Very good, witch. I do like a tidy mind, and that you most certainly have. I’m tempted to let you have your wand, and see what you can really do with all of those lovely _academic_ exercises you’ve completed. Would you like that, little pet?”

Her mind reeled. She watched her finger trace his nipple as she thought about that suggestion. He was hardly fussed at the delay in her reply, his mouth busy on her neck. He liked leaving love bites, she had learned.

“You are the only person I have ever met who truly believes that just because you want it, it not only should be so, but it _will_ be so.”

He lifted his head to look at her with a quirked brow. “Do you truly suppose anyone could oppose my will forever?”

Hermione’s head swam with images from all the time she had spent here. With him. “No.”

He smiled, a Cheshire cat gleam of satisfaction in his eye. “Are you finally letting go of your binary systems, Hermione?”

Her mind still reeled from the implications of all he had said. _How can I live with myself if I admit he intrigues me as well?_

“I might be.”

He rolled them both over. “That’s my clever girl.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
